


Letters, letters.

by metacrisis_chook



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, You've Got Mail (1998)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fic In Progress, Fluff, Fullmetal Alchemist AU, Humor, Inspired By, Pen Pals, Royai - Freeform, Royai Week 2020, Tags May Change, Tiny hint of Parental Roy, You've Got Mail AU, a little sprinkling of Sad here and there too, cheesy ftw, experimental fic, ok it's intended to be rom-com but we'll see where this goes, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metacrisis_chook/pseuds/metacrisis_chook
Summary: An FMAB AU, inspired by Royai Week 2020 Day 1 prompt:Letter, and the movieYou've Got Mail.Riza Hawkeye has a secret pen pal, but they know nothing about each others' identities, as they both write anonymously. She had begun writing on a dare, and it was all in good fun. But when things start becoming difficult for her, and she's faced with the inevitable decision of saying goodbye to her bookstore, she takes comfort in these letters, and her mysterious correspondent begins to grow on her.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're familiar with the movie, you probably know where this is heading! Just messing around with Royai. As this is only the first chapter, there is little else apart from building a little context for the story.

🙟 • 🙝

It was a fine autumn morning, and Elizabeth Hawkeye - or Riza, as her friends called her - walked down her usual route through Asterwood Avenue. The sun was still young, and felt just right on her skin, its soft golden hue bouncing brilliantly off the matching tresses that cropped her face. The early morning crowd was light as always, mostly people like herself, heading to work, parents walking their children to school, and bakery trucks dropping off supplies at the cafés lining the street. The sweet aroma wafted through the air and reached her, and she quickened her pace. _A bagel today, I think_ , she looked forward to her breakfast. But first, she stopped at the newsstand, where the familiar vendor gave her a toothy smile. She responded in kind, handed over her few cenz, and with a copy of Central Times under her arm, she crossed the street from Armstrong’s Flower Boutique and made her way to the one café that had become her favorite place to drop by to start off her day.

Riza placed her order for a bagel and a coffee, and scanned the newspaper. Nothing much to read today. They were still recovering from the war, so lack of news wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. There was a picture of Fuhrer Grumman shaking hands with the Cretan president, with a big article about restoring diplomatic relations with the country. A slightly more thrilling headline bore the updates on the Rooftop Killer, a deranged man who had been allegedly gunning down Amestrian citizens from top of buildings, and was yet to be captured. She cast the newspaper aside and rummaged in her bag. _Where is it?_ For a split second, Riza thought she had left it at home, but then her fingers brushed across it. She pulled out a sturdy beige envelope, its wax seal still intact. She pulled at the flap and it came off neatly, to her surprise. A smile broke across her face as she took out the letter and unfolded it.

**_...Hayate is my dog. You might be skeptical about my taste in names, but there is nothing better to expect from a man who chose his pen name to be ‘Firewhiskey’. He is a great dog, loves to run about madly in the park, and prefers to eat bagels off the sidewalk than the ones I buy for him. So far, it has been impossible for me to discipline him, but he is still the most lovable thing._ **

Riza looked at her own bagel, and wondered whether she could summon the dog if she dropped it on the sidewalk right then, and his master with him. Maybe on a day when she would feel particularly mad, she might try it in the park.

**_There’s something incredible about autumn in Central. I find the summers too suffocating, and can’t imagine what it must be like far out in the east near the desert. Winters are too bleak, although I like it when it snows. Autumns are perfect. The trees are a riot of colors, and it gives me a strange impulse to buy school supplies. Do you like stationery? I would love to send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. But not knowing is more fun, as is our arrangement, although we must give up the chance of sending quirky gifts to each other as the price of anonymity. Equivalent exchange, as my teacher used to say._ **

**_I hear October marks the beginning of allergy season for many people. Do you have any? I hope not. At any rate, take care of yourself._ **

**_Awaiting your reply, as always._ **

**_Firewhiskey_ **

The letter was dated two days ago. _You’d think the Amestrian postal service would be quicker in delivering mail within the same city._ But Riza was happy to wait any number of days to hear from her pen friend.

It had started out nearly a year ago.

  
  


Riza had been cleaning out the storage at the back of her bookshop, changing the newspaper that lined the shelves. Most of them were yellowed with age, and she had discarded them promptly. Rebecca, her friend and colleague, was on the other hand busy poring over the fine print, providing a nonstop commentary instead of focusing on the task at hand.

“ _Ceasefire at northern border_ ... _Resembool sheep festival postponed_. Boring,” Rebecca tossed it aside. “When did they start adding photographs to the papers? Oh, this one has some.”

“Rebecca, we really ought to hurry up with this, or I’ll start sneezing to death.”

“Yeah, yeah, just a minute…” She ran her eyes over the page she was holding. “Oh, no, just pictures of the past leaders of Amestris. _Ninety Years of Glory_ . Commemorative issue. Yup. A page full of portraits of shriveled old men. What a waste.” She picked up another. “And this is just full of advertisements. _WANTED. Stamp exchange. 50-500 stamps of the country and receive the same value in return of…._ Ugh. _Coin collector from Aerugo, desires coin and paper currency old and new. Will also trade for stamps_ . What is with these people and stamps? Most of these advertisements are for stamps. _I am interested in stamp exchange…. I WISH to exchange stamps, mint and used_ . _Stamps Sold._ Stamps, stamps, stamps. Hold on,” Rebecca squinted at the page, holding it close to her face. “ _Why be lonely? I want correspondence with girls under 30 of Amestrian, Drachman, Cretan, or Xingese origin_. Wow.” She snorted.

“People actually print these kinds of things?” Riza glanced at her.

“I just read the least depraved one, it seems,” Rebecca was scanning the whole page. “Some of these would make you blush.”

“No thanks.”

“Oh, this isn’t the regular paper, that would explain it.” Rebecca pointed to the top of the page, which indicated that it indeed wasn’t the Amestrian daily. “Some kind of special publication for advertisements.”

Riza had forgotten about it afterwards, until Rebecca brought a fresh issue to work a few days later. It had been raining quite heavily, and there hadn’t been customers all afternoon. With nothing better to do, the four people in the shop were huddled over the paper, reading the long list of advertisements sent in by men (and sometimes, women) of highly questionable characters, disguised as aspiring penpals.

“This guy wants ‘hot-blooded, libertarian individuals’, maybe you should write to him, Rebecca,” Riza tapped on an entry at the bottom. 

“I don’t know, I’m very intrigued by this other one. _Amestrian_ , _34_ , _attractive_. I like that kind of self-confidence.”

“ _Wealthy Women_ : _100 women who claim means and are seeking pen-pals, romance, or marriage_ -”

“Fuery, are you _sure_ you’re old enough to read this sort of thing-” Rebecca interjected, scowling at her bespectacled young friend.

“Absolutely. I would very much love to settle down with someone who can offer me the finer things in life.”

Mrs. Bradley, their oldest colleague, sipped her tea and shook her head. “My dears, if you really want to meet someone, you have to go out there. There’s nothing like experiencing the world yourself. ”

“Like how you ran off with your secret boyfriend?” Rebecca grinned slyly.

“He was not just any man,” Mrs. Bradley cast them a disdainful look. “He was a _king_.”

“That’s dramatic, even for you, Mrs. Bradley.”

“No, I mean to say, he really was a king. A ruler. Of a certain country.”

Riza, Rebecca and Fuery exchanged glances. This was new information. Whether the old woman was exaggerating or not, they didn’t care. They liked a good story, and Mrs. Bradley never disappointed them. She regaled them with the tales of her former lover, and the newspaper lay forgotten, and was eventually lost somewhere in the shop. It resurfaced only after a few months, when Fuery used it as a padding inside a box that contained a brand new mug he got Riza for her birthday. 

They closed the shop earlier that day, and Rebecca brought the cake. After a cozy little celebration, Riza went home, her arm full of presents. She placed the frame holding her mother’s photograph on the table, and unwrapped the presents in front of it. Mrs. Bradley had given her a beautiful vase (which she accidentally broke a few weeks later, much to her dismay), Rebecca had given her a pair of pretty silver earrings, and she loved the midnight blue mug from Fuery. She inaugurated it right away with her pre-bedtime tea, and idly straightened the newspaper stuffing inside the box. It was an absently done action, but it would change her life forever. Riza recognized it as the infamous subscription Rebecca had wasted her twenty cenz on, and amused herself by going through the columns again.

There were a few interesting advertisements, like those showcasing antiques such as Xingese ceramics, some club membership offers, but the rest were all queries for pen friends, ranging from hilarious to distasteful. Only a handful seemed to be serious, and Riza began to look for them. A few couples, seeking travel advice from those who had already experienced the same for themselves; a lady in her 60’s from Lorien, who wanted female correspondents close to her age and with an interest in sewing (Riza found it incredibly adorable), and some people with no specifications made about themselves nor their desired pen friends, mentioning only P.O. box addresses. Riza’s eyes were drawn to a particular ad, because she recognized the postal code as one in Central. For a few moments, she toyed with the idea of writing to an anonymous person living in the same city as hers, and wondered if anyone would be crazy enough to reply.

Rebecca promised her a dinner at a fancy restaurant in downtown Central if she actually did write, and manage to keep it up for at least two weeks.

Riza made it to week three, and enjoyed a delicious meal.

Surprisingly, she found herself dating a man called Frank, but it turned out to be a very short fling, and they parted ways as friends. Unbeknownst to everyone, Riza had continued writing to her penpal, whoever it was, and she regularly updated them on the current events in her life. They offered her reassurance after her breakup, though she hardly needed it, and told her it was much better to be single and content than be bound to someone who made her feel suffocated. Riza wondered if her correspondent had been speaking from experience, but she didn’t ask. Anonymity was the cornerstone of their agreement, and neither ever pressed for personal details. They both made one change, though - the introduction of silly pen names, because so far they had been writing without any, and it had felt jarring to Riza. She realized too late that she had inadvertently disclosed the fact that she was a woman, and in response, her correspondent voluntarily revealed that he was, in fact, a man. That hardly affected their dynamic, as they discussed nothing but mundane things.

A month later, things began to go downhill for Riza.

It had already been difficult for her, because she was struggling to run the shop for years. People’s interest in books seemed to decline with the passage of time. There had been a period when she was forced to close down for the war, and the indefinite wait had not been pleasant. After the war, the military had completely taken charge of governance, and Amestris was being rebuilt in ways they saw fit. Central, as the capital city, unsurprisingly underwent a huge development phase, and the process still continued to this day. While the law and order situation had been vastly improved, many neighborhoods started to become radically changed in the name of urbanization, and Riza’s bookshop happened to be in one such area. It meant that the once semi-suburban family friendly neighborhood had begun to turn into something soulless and dreary, and Riza began to lose her customers. A lot of investors turned their attention towards the area as well, recognizing its potential as a future hotspot, and they began to buy off properties in the vicinity.

To add to her worries, the military issued a statement dictating what kinds of establishments would be allowed to run in particular areas of the city, and a bookstore definitely did not fall under their intended plans for that particular neighborhood. Riza also had no way of appealing for an exception, since her store wasn’t churning out enough revenue to impress them, and she would soon find it impossible to pay taxes. But she fought on for as long as she could, just as the neighborhood changed around her until she couldn’t recognize it anymore. There was a new investor eyeing the block that had remained relatively untouched so far, and Riza had a difficult decision to make. The four in the shop had several discussions, and finally agreed that selling the store while they still could was their best course of action. There had been a blur of few weeks dealing with formalities. An agent was sent bearing the final piece of paper Riza would have to sign and seal the shop’s fate. She scrawled on it mechanically, accepted the hollow congratulations from the agent on behalf of their employer, who had apparently claimed ownership of several adjoining properties in rapid succession, Riza’s being the latest. She decided that she particularly hated this person for driving so many long-standing businesses into dissolution, for snatching away her own shop and invading her beloved neighborhood.

It was around this time that her relationship with her mysterious pen friend evolved from platonic to something of a different nature, something that both excited and terrified her. He had been her constant support throughout the whole ordeal, and with every letter he sent bearing words of comfort, her affections just grew. She was aware of how silly it was to feel this way (and hadn’t she been laughing at the idea of people looking for romance through random correspondence?), and hadn’t forgotten about its potential dangers. But just how much could a person lie? If they had been faking it, their words would have become dull a long time ago, and they would’ve stopped writing altogether once she was proved to be disinterested in divulging intimate details. They only shared their distress, and if not that, they spoke about ordinary things, which fleshed him out even more convincingly to her. And not for once had Riza been pressurized to impart any information she wasn’t comfortable with. It seemed almost too good to be true that she would find somebody like this in her life, and she was scared that she might lose him if she ever hinted at her feelings. So she had continued writing to him as usual, and eagerly waited to hear from him every week.

And it had went on.

Riza tucked the envelope back into her bag, paid for her food, and exited the cafe, recharged by the letter to face another uncertain day.

🙟 • 🙝

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sign of our beloved Roy yet...nor a solid plot, in case you're not familiar with the movie! I honestly just wanted to try out Royai in the aforementioned movie's setting, taking a few ideas from the other movie ("The Shop Around the Corner") it's based on. I have several random chapters written already, but updates will depend on how this is received ^^'
> 
> It's perhaps a bit too late to tag this for Royai week, but the credit still goes to the prompt. If I ever get to completing this I might tag it as a Royai week collection. I've been unsure about posting this, but decided to post the first chapter on a whim today...to test the waters, I guess.
> 
> I can't string together any more cohesive sentences today..it's an ungodly hour and half my brain is asleep.  
> Thank you for reading! Do let me know if I should continue this.
> 
> (Apologies for the horrible fic title :P why do we need titles-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another upload while half-asleep. It has been lying around for a while, so I figured, why not?

🙟 • 🙝

The bookshop was full to the brim that day, with barely any room to maneuver through the shelves. It took Riza back to her childhood, when such crowds used to be a regular occurrence, and the shop would be humming with excitement all day. She welcomed the familiar energy as she watched people file in, and her secretly sentimental mind attributed it to the luck the letter had brought her in the morning. In reality, it was crowded with waiting parents and their children, because she had announced one last storybook hour before her shop closed down for good.

The practice had been initiated by Riza’s mother, who had actually founded the store many years ago, just after Riza was born. She would sit down and read to an audience of wide-eyed children, working her magic on the words until the stories came to life through her narration. It had vastly contributed to the popularity of the bookshop, for Mirabelle Hawkeye was wonderful with children, and the parents admired her for it. Riza knew she could never quite replicate the charm that came to her mother naturally, but the title of 'Storybook Lady' had been passed onto her without question. This final performance meant more to her than anyone could imagine, because she was doing it to honor her mother’s memory as much as she was doing it for herself, so she gave it her all. The children gasped and giggled as she read on, and when she was finished, everyone broke into applause. A few kids came up to her for hugs, which she delivered lovingly, shook their parents’ hands and graciously responded to their well wishes. The crowd gradually thinned out, and just like that, the storybook hour was over.

Riza busied herself at the counter for the rest of the morning, aided by Rebecca. There was a street fair two blocks away, so even after the children had exited Riza’s shop, they could be heard nearby, running and screaming in delight. A few families would occasionally drop by at the store, some out of their own curiosity, others dragged by their kids, so there was a steady flow of visitors. The bell at the door tinkled as they came in and left, and some of Riza’s younger patrons were more interested in it than the books themselves. She watched with mild amusement as one such little boy desperately tried to reach it, hauled up by his exasperated looking guardian. The latter caught Riza’s eye and smiled apologetically, but she waved it away, and resumed collecting the books left on the counter.

“Someone’s in a good mood today,” Rebecca commented.

“Hm?”

“You’re humming.”

“Am I?” Riza blinked. “Perhaps.”

“And smiling.”

“Do I generally not?”

“Not like this,” Rebecca grinned. “With that dreamy look on your face.”

“I don’t look  _ dreamy _ ,” Riza scoffed, adding another book to the pile.

“You’ve been looking like that all morning...ever since you read that letter.”

The books almost fell from Riza’s arms.

“What?” She hissed at Rebecca, who was trying to suppress her laughter. “Rebecca Catalina, were you  _ spying _ on me-”

“Oho, so I  _ am _ right, you’ve been writing again! Got yourself a hot date, Hawkeye?”

“Not so loudly, Rebecca!” Riza glanced at the customers anxiously, but nobody paid them any attention.

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” Rebecca chortled.

“Were you at the cafe this morning?”

“No, but I was jogging past it and saw you at the window, making all sorts of faces at a letter in your hand.”

Riza made a mental note to never read her mail in public spaces ever again. “And you just assumed?”

“I assumed correctly,” was her friend’s victorious reply.

In ten minutes, Rebecca had extracted the whole story, and was delighted that Riza was finally showing interest in someone, but also really amused because they had no way of telling what the person was like in real life. “Unless you ask him to meet you. What do you say?”

“Absolutely not,” Riza was mortified.

“Why not? Don’t you want to meet your dashing young prince-”

“ _ If _ he is.”

“So you’ll run away if he isn’t cute?” Rebecca pretended to be shocked.

“That’s not what I meant-”

The bickering was interrupted by the arrival of a small customer, who looked very much like the boy who had been trying to reach for the bell a while back. Riza listened to his polite query regarding where he might find books with magic and cats in them, which seemed like an oddly specific request, but as a matter of fact the store did have a few titles that could possibly interest him. She led the way, and he waddled to the kids’ section alongside her. Riza was distracted even further by some more inquisitive customers, and left the boy entranced by the rows of colorful covers, and then found herself back at the counter somehow, where her conversation with Rebecca resumed.

  
  


“But this is crazy, he’s from Central as well. You’re bound to cross paths with him sooner or later.”

“Unless I’ve already seen him and never realized.”

“It could be anyone. Imagine that,” Rebecca paused to let a customer pass. “It could be the man from the flower shop.”

The hulking figure of Alex Armstrong materialized in Riza’s mind. She shuddered. “I don’t think so.”

“It could be the next person who walks through those doors,” Rebecca glanced at the entrance. The bell tinkled, making Riza jump, but it was only Mrs. Bradley who walked in. Both Riza and Rebecca burst out laughing, much to the confusion of the elderly woman. 

The little boy Riza had attended to earlier came up to them, and placed an impressive number of books on the counter on his tiptoes. She checked the titles and commended his choices. “They’re going to keep you busy for the next few months, I think.”

“No, brother and I are very good readers,” he beamed. “These should take only a week!”

“Really?” Riza wondered whether to believe him, but as if to prove his claim, the other boy appeared at the counter as well added more books to the existing pile. 

“Are you sure your dad is fine with buying all these books at once?” She nodded at the man as he approached, then wondered if she had made a correct assumption.  _ Uncle, perhaps? _

“Who, this  _ bastard _ ? No, he’s our brother,” piped the energetic bell-ringer.

His brother (the smaller one, at least) gasped, mirroring a very scandalized Mrs. Bradley. Rebecca looked like she was having the best day of her life. She dragged away her bewildered colleague to assist a group of customers in a nearby corner, chortling to herself. 

Riza managed to keep her composure, though her eyes had widened in astonishment. She looked from the kids, who looked hardly older than six, to the man who was roughly around her age; undeniably handsome, but with black hair and eyes that were strikingly different from the boys’ golden ones. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, color flooding his cheeks.

“That’s not very nice, Ed,” he sighed. “We’ve talked about this.”

Ed seemed to have come to his senses, because his face had gone very red too. He mumbled a quick apology and ran away to the biggest bookshelf he could find to hide behind, the other boy trailing after him. 

“I am terribly sorry about this,” the man shook his head. “I don’t know where he picks up these things.”

Riza’s mouth twitched, but she decided not to press. “He’ll learn.” She remembered her pen friend’s dilemma with his dog, strangely enough. “Children can be stubborn. The more you say no the more adamant they are not to listen.”

“He’s a good kid. They both are.”

“They certainly seem invested in books, which I’m glad to see,” Riza smiled, stacking the twelve books by size. “Will you be taking all of these?”

“Yes, please,” he fished his coat for his wallet. 

“Not many children are interested in reading these days.”

“No, but these two will surprise you. They practically survive on books more than food.” He glanced behind him, where the two boys were back ogling at the shelves, the little mishap already forgotten. “They really enjoyed the storybook hour. Are you doing it again next week?”

“I’m afraid not,” Riza tried not to let the disappointment show. “That was the last session. We’re closing down next month.” She sent a quick cry back to Rebecca, who wanted to know where she could find a certain rare volume a lady was requesting for (“The one with the hand-tipped illustrations!”), and turned her attention back to her customer.

The eagerness on his face had vanished, replaced by a blank look. “Right. My apologies.”

He paid for the books wordlessly, collected the bag and beckoned to the two boys. “Ed, Al, let’s go!”

The boys dropped whatever new volumes they had been checking out and hurried forward. They waved to Riza as they went out the door, and she waved back. Their older brother - if Ed had been indeed speaking the truth - turned back as well, as if he wanted to say something, but then whirled around and left with his two fiery little charges. Riza gazed on a little bemusedly, but she became engrossed in work again and thought no more of it.

“I love that kid,” Rebecca whispered, slipping back beside Riza behind the counter.

“I feel bad for their parents,” Riza shook her head. “Can’t imagine having kids shooting their mouths off in random places.”

“D’you reckon that man really is their brother? He looked so much older.”

Riza shrugged. “People have all sorts of families.”

Mrs. Bradley had rejoined them, and to Riza’s horror, Rebecca began to recount whatever she had learned about Riza’s letter-writing shenanigans. There was a second round of gasping, and a little admonishing (which Riza felt was well-deserved), but both women agreed without question that Riza had fallen for this mysterious man and that she must find out more about him. She didn’t know which was more alarming, the fact that they had both figured out her feelings ( _ Am I really that easy to read? _ ), or that they were egging her on to meet a complete stranger - a potentially dangerous prospect, but also an urge she had been trying to resist for months. Riza didn’t think she would be able to do the rational thing and stop herself if they kept on badgering her like this every day, and she helplessly looked for a distraction.

Just right then, Fuery entered the store, looking slightly frazzled. He had been away all morning running errands, and came back with a bag in his arms containing what Riza hoped was lunch. She could do with some food, and she wanted to sneak away from her two gossiping colleagues (and keep Fuery away from them for as long as possible, because she was not ready for a round two), so she intercepted him at the door.

“Hey! I thought we wouldn’t see you for the rest of the day,” Riza took the paper bag from his hands. It was warm, and a delicious smell wafted out of it. “Did they accept the donations?” They had decided to give away a few precious volumes to the Central Library, since they figured all the books in their inventory might not be sold by the end of the month.

“Yeah, it was no problem,” Fuery sounded a little distracted. “Everything alright in the shop today?”

“Yeah, we had a great little storybook session, I’m sorry you missed it. The place was practically crammed with kids.”

“Hmm.” He glanced outside, barely paying attention to her words.

“Everything alright, Kain?” Riza hardly ever used Fuery’s first name; they were all too accustomed to referring to him by his surname, even Fuery himself. It had its intended effect, because he jumped.

“Huh? Yes!” he said a little too quickly, then froze under Riza’s stern gaze. He sighed. “Listen, you didn’t have any...unwanted customers today, did you?” Fuery dropped his voice to a whisper.

It was Riza’s turn to be surprised. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just,” the young man fidgeted. “I saw Roy Mustang lurking around outside.”

“ _ What? _ ”

The name brought an unpleasant taste to her mouth.

Riza had signed away her bookshop, and it was Roy Mustang who had been the one to receive it.

It wasn’t a matter of this single transaction, for the lack of a better word, that infuriated her. When the neighborhood had begun to slowly deteriorate and handed over to its many buyers for their various commercial agenda, there had been a spark of outrage by the people who frequented the area for more communal purposes. A large number of blocks had already been taken over, so there had been talks by the authorities of whether to let the remaining neighborhood spaces untouched. That had given Riza some hope - struggling or not, she still might have been able to continue her business, and who knew, perhaps the heightened influx of people in the area could very well have brought her some unprecedented customers.

All that went down the drain when Roy Mustang had suddenly appeared in the picture, and she had no idea what kind of strings he had pulled (how on earth he had that kind of an influence over the military, she couldn’t fathom, and the plausible answers didn’t please her either) but the overtaking of the neighborhood resumed in full gusto, and it had been him who ended up buying the a sizeable chunk of the block - Riza’s shop and the three adjacent to it. It angered her a lot more once she had found out he intended to run a bar in its place, and basically turn the area into a distasteful after-hours hub for the military personnel. It was almost like a personal insult to her to see the painstakingly built identity of the neighborhood on the verge of erasure, and Roy Mustang felt like the one responsible. Her three friends in the bookstore were aware of her sentiments and couldn’t really disagree with them.

  
  


“He wasn’t here, was he?” Fuery was asking. “Although he has no reason to snoop around. We still have the right to keep the shop open till the end of the month..”

“I don’t know,” Riza’s annoyance grew. “I’ve never seen him personally.”

“Really?” Fuery was taken aback slightly. “Wasn’t he there when the contract had been finalized?”

“He sent someone else in his place.” The thought of Mustang creeping into her store sent her blood pressure spiking. “What does he look like?”

“Well,” Fuery scratched his head. “I didn’t get too close to him. He’s..tall? Dark hair.”

“Not enough.”

“Wore a black coat? And oh, he seemed to have these two kids with him, though I’m not sure..”

Riza was thunderstruck.  _ It can’t be _ . There had been many tall men in coats with their kids in her shop that day, but she had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Little boys? Blond hair?”

“Yeah, that’s - wait, so he  _ was _ here?!”

“Yeah,” she said quietly, walking back inside.

Mrs. Bradley and Rebecca stopped their chatter once they had spotted the look on Riza’s face. They glanced at Fuery, who shook his head anxiously. Riza made her way to the back of the shop, determinedly not looking at anyone, dropped the bag of sandwiches onto the small table they usually gathered around for lunch, and slumped down onto a chair. She forced herself to steady her breathing.

  
  


_ I’m not going to get upset. _

_ I’m not going to get upset. _

At times, she felt like she might have finally come to terms with the fact that she was saying goodbye to the store. Officially, she was already on borrowed time, because the place was no longer hers on paper. But every now and then something would crop up and the realization would hit her like a speeding train, and all those years of hard work - hers, her mother’s - would slip away through her fingers, leaving her clutching at the air. Riza had practically grown up in the shop, spending endless hours going through the rows of books after school, finding new corners for her to read in every day, including the back of the counter by the door, until she was too tall to hide behind it. She had watched the store grow from a modest concrete chamber of a few shelves into the small labyrinth it was today, with lacquered flooring and the elegant wallpaper of her mother’s choice. Saying goodbye to it was nothing short of having to tear herself into two, and leave a part of her behind where she could never go back again.

She resented Roy Mustang so much, that sometimes it surprised her. She often wondered how things might’ve been like if he hadn’t come into the picture. Would her business have survived? Would the military have cooperated with her? It was hard to tell. But there had been a slight possibility, the smallest pinprick of hope with the community protests. And then Mustang had swept in and became some kind of a catalyst for the downhill tumble. He hadn’t had the courtesy of showing his face even when closing the deal.  _ And now he’s taking advantage of the fact that I don’t recognize him and lurking in my store? _

He had been so  _ polite _ , and she had responded likewise. _My apologies._ The thought just aggravated her further. Did he bring the kids to add another layer of feigned decency to his cover, just in case? He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself to her today either. Rebecca had called her by her name at least a dozen times while he had been around, so there was no scope for him to miss the fact that she was the same person who had signed those papers right opposite his own name. It was nothing short of rudeness, by this point.

_ Why had he come? _

She supposed he had every right to. Anyone could stroll into a bookshop. But he particularly had the right to do so, in this shop.

He probably felt like he was entitled to. To do as he pleased.

Things had been going so well in the morning...

Riza suddenly felt very drained, with all the negative emotions conflating in her brain. It was extremely uncharacteristic of her to be so critical of one person, but every encounter with Roy Mustang seemed to go so badly that it felt like a cascade of bad experiences that pointed against him and weighed her down. The hum of the customers conversing back in the shop, the thud of books, and even the tinkle of the small bell that she always adored suddenly became too loud to bear. She tried to block it all out, her face in her hands.

She heard footsteps approach, and immediately steeled herself. The door swung open. It was Mrs. Bradley.

“Are you alright, Riza dear?” the woman asked, in the same kindly voice she would speak to Riza when she had been ten years old.

“Mhm,” her mask was back on again in the fraction of a second, all smiles and earnest eyes.

Mrs. Bradley studied her for a few seconds, and Riza was determined not to let any emotions slip out. It was hard to keep up the facade when the other woman knew her so well, though.

“Fuery told me-”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” Riza was quick to cut across her, almost jumping out of her seat. “I’m going back now.”

But Mrs. Bradley settled her back into the chair gently. “Why don’t you take a few minutes off? You’ve been working since morning without a break.” She shuffled towards the other end of the room, where a tray full of tea supplies sat atop a small counter, and poured a steaming mug of tea that had been steeping for quite a while. “This should help your throat.”

Riza’s voice had indeed been feeling slightly raspy, which was unsurprising as she had dived straight into work after nearly two hours of reading out loud. She was embarrassed to have the elderly lady attend to her like that, but equally grateful. “Thank you,” she mumbled, accepting the mug. “Would you like to stay back and grab a bite? Fuery’s brought lunch.”

“I need to save a customer first, I left him with Rebecca. You go ahead and start.” She patted Riza on her way out, giving her a mock glowering look. “I better not see you sneaking back in there.”

“Alright,” Riza chuckled, accepting her defeat. Mrs. Bradley smiled and left, closing the door behind her. 

The chatter outside became muffled, and Riza found herself slowly relaxing. She was grateful that Mrs. Bradley understood her need to be alone for a while. Her annoyance at Mustang was no secret, nor had she really been able to mask her disappointment at the store’s fate from the others, but they had supported her in their own ways without judgement, even when their own livelihoods were at stake.

She took a sip from the steaming mug, relishing the honey and lemon as it hit her throat.

_ What am I doing? _

Her silent fit of rage seemed silly now.

Things were going to get tough for her soon, but there was plenty to appreciate everyday.

Roy Mustang was a vague, irksome stranger, but only a pinprick outside the colossal sphere of her personal life. He had no place there, and she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her, or whatever he was trying to play at. She had Mrs. Bradley, Rebecca and Fuery. She had her small base of loyal customers who dropped by every other week, even if just to say hello. She had her mother watching over her from somewhere, and she was going to keep trying to make her proud.

And she had someone out there in the city, writing to her devotedly, surely as mad as herself for keeping up their strange arrangement for so many months. Riza felt giddy once more, recalling Rebecca’s earlier proposition to have her meet him.

Oh, she wanted to. It was strange to even think about it. But she wanted to.

_ And I will, perhaps soon _ .

But for now, she would keep herself content with the letters only. It might take her another year to summon the courage to ask him, if she kept her guard up like this, but she wouldn’t risk what they had for the world.

  
  


**_I like to start writing my letters to you as if we are already in the middle of a conversation. It has been so long, and we have spoken about so many things already. Would it be too far fetched of me to think of us as the oldest and dearest friends? Must we hold onto the identity of strangers?_ **

**_It must sound so silly to you, but I feel no shame in confessing...I look forward to hearing from you every time. It has become something I can count on, amidst everything else that goes on in my life. Another week, another trip to the post office, another mail. It’s almost dramatic. My breath hitches in excitement as I open the envelope. Everything else becomes blurry, unimportant. I have mail, from you. What will you write about this time, I wonder?_ **

**_Autumns in Central are lovely, I agree. I’ve spent some time in the East, so I know a thing or two about the summer heat. It would very rarely snow over there, which was such a disappointment. I very much prefer living here. Central might be a maze of concrete, but it has its perks._ **

**_Do you visit the park often? I’m not even sure if we are thinking of the same one, but we just might be. It really is beautiful this time of the year. I’ll drop by there sometime soon. People are always flocking to the park. We might even pass each other unknowingly. What an incredible notion! If you have no desire to get caught, perhaps you might want to reconsider bringing your dog, or throwing bagels. I’ll be watching._ **

**_I have no allergies that I am aware of, so I think I might make it through the year just fine. But the idea of a bouquet of sharpened pencils gave me a horrible urge to sneeze, for some strange reason. It’s best that you don’t send some my way after all. If you’re still determined, then I would rather have some daisies. They are my favorite._ **

**_Hoping you are well,_ **

**_Lilibet_ **

**_ 🙟 • 🙝 _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've updated after all *smol cheers* But let's not get ahead of ourselves @_@ My resolve is a fickle thing
> 
> We do have a glimpse of Roy this time, but the story is still quite narration-heavy and Riza focused so far. Does her annoyance at Roy feel rational enough? I've attempted to give her a solid enough reason to be irritated (since I'm diverging from the reasons provided in the movie), but if it does feel a little irrational, then it's because it perhaps slightly is. She's anxious about what the future holds for her now, and I think it's natural to be a little panicked..and we also haven't read anything from Roy's POV yet, so let's see how much of an actual jerk he might be, and how much it is in Riza's head. Also, which pen name is worse? 😂
> 
> Unsure if I'll make any edits to this chapter, but if I do I'll mention it in the next chapter. I hope the story is making sense so far! Comments are appreciated ^^


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